


The Other Side

by Zwiezraczek



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ((if I'm able to write it but I doubt)), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hunk is Afro American, I want it to be fluffy but angsty at the same time and I can't decide tbh, Keith is an albino, Lance is half Cuban half Black, M/M, Matt is the white suburb boy, Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Multi, Pining Lance (Voltron), Pining Matt (Voltron), Shay is a Latina Queen, The Get Down AU, btw this is not beta-ed so I'm super sorry if there are ny mistakes, maybe some porn who knows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-12-29 18:41:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18299846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zwiezraczek/pseuds/Zwiezraczek
Summary: I never was normal, they always told me so. I was Blue, sometimes Lancey, and never Lance. I was the Bronx, but the revolution in the Bronx. As mama said I was a rebel, no more. And she was right. Since forever, since the day I started to grow my fro to believe that my heritage wasn't something that cursed me but empowered me, I believed that I was weird. To the day I was suddenly called a genius by a long-haired boy from the other side...





	1. Prologue: Welcome to the Get Down

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, watching The Get Down was a great idea but seeing that the show got cancelled for another season broke my heart okay? Life is a bitch.  
> And as I was fangirling about Dizzee and Thor's relationship, I wanted to make something about Voltron characters in that world. I have to confess that I wanted to make a Klance Au but my Latte heart (awaken by somebody, you know who you are my niece, it's because of you somehow :P) said no. So here we are.

[Welcome to the Get Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkZRQ7JRxxI)

New York City 1977 

_Back in time 1977, it was maximum crime […]_

_And which Burrough suffered the most? Hm, where I'm from:_

_The Bronx._

 

I never was normal, they always told me so. I was Blue, sometimes Lancey, and never Lance. I was the Bronx, but the revolution in the Bronx. As mama said I was a rebel, no more. And she was right. Since forever, since the day I started to grow my fro to believe that my heritage wasn't something that cursed me but empowered me, I believed that I was weird. To the day I was suddenly called a genius by a long-haired boy from the other side...

* * *

 

“Lance, you have to explain to me what these sprays are doing in your locker”, his teacher's voice was an echo from afar as Lance rose his eyes to look at the sun. It was the last day of school, he had to graph tonight in hope to find Shaolin Fantastic in town, or a new graph or two. He had no time for explanation, he was wasting time for action.

“Nothin' particular, I had to throw 'em on my way back home. I found 'em this morning, half empty and had no place to throw 'em. I'm goin' to throw 'em if you let me take 'em”, he had nothing to lose – or precisely his sprays to lose, and of course his favourites shades of blue, what an idiot he was! His teacher examined the sprays again, they were half empty because Lance used them so much, it was plausible – more or less – and Lance crossed his fingers and began to beg Blue to help him.

“Alright, take these back but only because it's the last day of school”, the teacher warned as he handed the sprays. “Have a nice summer Lance.”

“Thank you Mr.W.”

When he finally was out of high school his eyes stopped on his younger sibling, Marco, and Hunk. Marco and Hunk were best friends since birth, and the were even sometimes confused as brothers; truth be told Hunk was like family to Lance. Rough life, orphan for seven years and living with his aunt and her man in a crappy apartment, rough life that their parents understood and their door was always open for him, and for other friends. Especially Ronnie's aka Shay, the pastor's de la Cruz daughter, and Allura another Latino girl coming out of nowhere. He grew up in the middle of guests, love, sharing, passion, sometimes his dad's shouting, but mostly loved. But love and family wasn't enough. He wanted freedom, he needed freedom, he was v _iva la revolucion_. And so, he began to graph on the walls, all by himself. One day, he found them, the _Revolutionaries_ , they found him. They adopted him as a member of their family, they listened when he spoke, they liked what he did. Lance was gifted by the Blue energy herself, if god was a woman she was Blue. She helped Lance when he needed calm and peace, she showed him how to trace smoothly on the paper lines without any doubt and fear; first it was quiet, all so quiet in his room until his notebook became too small for what his mind was creating and then, he decided to paint on the walls. It was nothing rare, no prodigy, but he signed it “Blue” because she was the one. He had some crappy sprays in hand, he had paint all over his arms and on his neck, he lived through the paint itself. It was a pleasant moment, was that being alive?

Marco's words from afar took him off guard, as he had his hand on Hunk's shoulder. Lance couldn't stop staring, his brother was half screaming.

“That gotta be somethin' expensive but ya got no money”, Hunk nodded quickly before Marco continued what he had to say, “somethin' that says dunno... I know you girl, I know you deep until you can fucking scream the name of God!”

“Just don't talk about her like that”, Hunk pushed him away while telling him so.

“Okay, okay... Just do somethin' goddamn dangerous like _bang bang_ ”, he pursued while miming a gun in his right hand. He looked really funny with his white socks against his dark skin, and these shorts... Wait. These were his shorts. Marco dared. Lance felt fire in his veins but he had to stay cool. Lance sighed.

He later learnt that they – mostly Hunk – are going to Les Inferno. Les Inferno. The place to be, or not in the Bronx. Drug dealers, disco club, crappy people, crappy music. Nothing to be in love with. Except for Shay. Shay always wanted to be a disco star, just like Misty Holloway; she had a bright future in her father's eyes, singing in the name of God during every service in church. She needed to give the dj her record, the tape she recorded with Hunk last week-end, in the church – Marco wasn't able to shut his mouth about it – and now, she had to spread it, like a love message to the world. Everything was cool, everything. They only needed to find an excuse for Hunk, and somehow Ronnie helped them – she was definitely going to Les Inferno with Shay and Allura – the idea was simple: a movie night. The McClains made a pinky promise, they had to help Shay, true but they had to help Hunk first. Lance's idea. The older, the smarter. They sat at the table, waiting for their mama to serve them dinner as they spoke with a smile on their faces. The McClain trio knew.

“Goin' to the movies tonight, kids”, the voice of their mama echoed in the dinning room while she brought the plate on the large table shared by the eight teenagers.

“Lura and I are going to see that new romance”, Ronnie looked at her with a huge smile on her face making her dimples grow larger as Allura added something about cheerleaders in the movie.

“You boys goin' with 'em?”

“No, we're gonna see the new meta-galactic one”, Lance answered with his philosophy magazine on his lap, “... Wars on Mars or somethin'.”

“Hate science fiction”, Ronnie protested shaking her puffy black buns while putting some meat on her fork.

“It's called Star Wars”, Marco intervened rising his voice above them all, “the force, jedi, ya know somethin' about it”, he asked whereas Ronnie rose her shoulders and rolled her eyes.

“And you Shay, you're not goin' with 'em”, mama asked and Hunk just looked at her frowning.

“Oh, no Mrs. McClain, I have to be home soon.”

“Oh, really”, Hunk asked and the McClain trio went all silent.

“Yeah, I have to help my dad.”

“Oh I see.”

Electricity in the air, Lance came back to his magazine and Allura snapped a new subject that attracted the attention again. But it was without counting on their dad's musical talents, him and his saxophone. Lance felt dizzy, as every time he heard this instrument. Notes were dancing all around his head, all around his curly fro and going right into his ears. He looked at his dad's fingers, they were sliding on the buttons carelessly and he imagined that was what freedom tasted like. His dad should be the one to understand him, not to burden him. Graffiti and music, on the same side, wasn't it? He delighted everyone with his tune, everyone except Lance's face.

“Becoming a philosopher now, son”, he asked putting his saxophone down against the chair

“I already told you dad, I'm into pop art now, quick writing graffiti...”

“I just saw Blue on the wall, Lancey.”

“It's a copycat thing dad!”

“Yeah sure son, you'll be surprised to find yourself married to a big guy called Mary-Ann soon”, he commented as the whole table burst into laughter making Lance nervous.

He didn't want to be mocked, he always felts pressure on his shoulders when his father was talking to him or about him. He was – despite the love they gave him – the biggest disappointment in this family, Lance the shameful. Marco had a bright future, he knew things, he had Hunk by his side, Rachel knew places, Rachel was a smart one, and Ronnie, Ronnie had a talent, she knew how to sing. And Lance? Lance was just a lame little artist hidden in a den, like an animal. He didn't reply. He let his father laugh. Just because, just because everything was enough.

 

The movie seemed lame, but Marco wanted to watch it, and Lance and Rachel had to draw him in the tunnels to be able to graph a bit before meeting Hunk in front of school. Rachel, despite everything and anything, liked to watch Lance graph; he radiated a strange energy while he was spraying the rocks and the walls, as if everything was fading around them, blurred into his magic. “Your brother is a creep”, Lance once heard from Hunk while he was talking with Marco. Lance wasn't a creep, he was an unappreciated genius, and deep down, Blue knew it: this is why she chose him and no other. But nobody else saw it. Nobody else could feel that energy but Rachel and Blue.

Hunk broke the magic when he arrived, a beer in hand. He looked depressed. He looked bad. He seemed to have lost everything in this world, and not just Shay. He was in a middle of a shooting in Les Inferno, people dying in front of him, the dj dead, the date was dead too. Shay dumped him, the record he had for her – the one Marco was rambling about, the Pakoussa remix or whatever – she gave it back to him, and Hunk came, with a beer and a record. He was rambling about having no future at all, about being useless, about his heart being shot during that night and Lance could feel his pain through his veins, this poison feeding his brain until he could feel intoxicated with it, he could see despair, he could feel everything Hunk was experiencing. Because him, Lance McClain, felt it too in front of his father. In front of the whole world, even his new family, the _Revolutionaries_. He felt anger too.

“Yo, osu, wordsmith”, they heard from above the rock and rose their heads to see a guy with a red bombers on his shoulders and eyes glistening in the dark.

“Who the fuck is that”, Lance heard himself saying as the stranger casually slid on the side of the rock.

But soft, were these the infamous Red Pumas? The Pumas of the devil himself, of the master of masters, the Pumas he always wanted to see. He couldn't, no, didn't want to hear what the guy had to say. The Pumas were the only thing that mattered right there back then. He was speaking with Hunk, telling him some shit, but Lance was absorbed by the view. The man was as pale as the moon with messy black hair shining in the dark, his nose, as his mama would say, was the size of Africa, but his eyes were definitely not from there – maybe from Asia, who knows? Was it possible... He heard he was an albino but it never really mattered... So this was true, the Asian heritage in the eyes... The Pumas... The whole picture was clear now.

“Sit your ass down”, he shouted while pushing Hunk to make him sit again. “You look like a bitch crying over a bitch! And I don't understand all the crying about a female.”

“You don't know. You don't know.”

“I don't know? I don't know about what? Not about to say love, are you?”

“Who the fuck is this dude”, Rachel cut the two in the middle of their little war having her dark hoodie on her hair.

“Oh motherfucker, it's a little girl right here”, the man playfully said while approaching her. “ What do you...”

“Hey man, we're all cool here”, Lance had to protect her at any cost, he had a spray in his hand that the man removed from his hand before beginning to graph.

He had red paint in his hand. Blue knew what she did. And she revealed talent, she revealed God himself to Lance. His idol. The one he dreamed about while sketching in his little notebook. Shaolin Fantastic. The Red Pumas. Everything seemed out of fog.

“You're Shaolin Fantastic”, he had this fanboyish tone he regretted soon after he saw a little proud smile appearing on the man's face.

“The lady-killing romantic”, he replied and threw the spray into Lance's hands.

“Hunk the hell is this really him”, Marco asked.

“Just look at his shoes”, Rachel obviously whispered while crossing her arms and rolling her eyes.

“I don't know I just met the dude.”

“Bro, this is my little sister Ra, here's my brother Mar and do you know who I am”, Lance asked hopefully, eyes shining bright searching for some recognition.

“You're... Blue yeah. The _Revolutionaries_ , got you bro”, he answered and shook his hand before turning to Hunk. “Yo, where's my fucking record?”

Lance could die happy. He felt it. He felt the Red Pumas reaching Blue somehow. He felt his heart racing, he felt a brother, he felt another artist's soul near him. It wasn't anything he could feel with the Revolutionaries, it was even greater: his idol was standing in front of him, knowing him, he did _hear_ about him. And when Blue allowed him to be back on Earth, he heard one thing “The Get Down”. The flyest secret underground party in the entire Bronx. They had to follow him, right now. Nothing mattered more than following him at that moment. Lance saw his future in him, in these Red Pumas and on that white face with Afro-American features. He felt it. Blue felt it.

 

Blue never disappointed. This place was something else and Lance felt it. Bodies moving all around him, girls, boys, people, crowd. Music was still buzzing in his ears as he kept following Shaolin Fantastic. He smelt drugs, he could smell alcohol too. They went high, he got high with this girl vaping into his mouth. Everything getting into his fucking mind, he saw Blue, majestic Blue lioness. She was radiating, she was beautiful. She, the girl, Blue, kissed him. He kissed back. This meant nothing, just sharing the mood, sharing the fun, sharing art. He was dragged by Rachel. She dragged him to Marco and Hunk, Hunk had to sing, Hunk had to impress and Lance could only encourage him to do so. So he clapped his hands, he shouted his name, he felt art, he knew Hunk would do a great job. And man, he did.

 

Shaolin took them to his den. Nothing like the den Lance had with his other family, this den was Ali-baba's – Shaolin's. Shaolin wanted to be a dj, he wanted to create and his hunger for forms of expression was greater than any other. They made that evening great, even graphing couldn't be that intense and Lance knew it. Shaolin showed them his records, Shaolin showed them the roof. Shaolin showed them the world.

“We're be musical Kings”, Shaolin said to them as they were sitting on the edge of the roof, “Fantastic Four plus One.”

They saw the trains. The ones Lance painted on with Blue and Rachel before they met Hunk in front of the school. Sun was rising and orange was melting with pink. A new start, a fresh start, something new.

“ _Where there is Ruin, there is Hope for a Treasure”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked it, leave a comment, a kudo and if you want you can find me on [Tumblr](https://zwiezraczek.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 1: Losing your mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We have a problem"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here the real Latte is done. Enjoy your cup of coffee - while I'll be drinking my cup of tea.  
> And, I'm sorry that I'm stating that just right now but this will be a TOTAL spoiler fic for the Get Down... ^^" So if you want to watch it... Don't read? Or read and compare? I don't know I'm sorry ^^"

[Losing your mind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Rykc2RWR5g)

_Shaolin, he helps me_

_He wealthy in street knowledge […]_

_The birth of a new group is spawned_

 

“We have a problem”, Shaolin stated as he sat with them on the edge of the rooftop, “she's a girl.”

“Where's the problem, huh”, Rachel asked crossing her arms on her chest with a killer look.

“The problem's, little girl, that the Get Down music is for no woman on stage, got it? No female allowed, no bitches allowed.”

“I'm no bitch Shao!”

“I know that but they don't know it. So we gotta problem”, Shaolin stated and looked at Hunk.

“She can become _Ra-Ra_ the youngest boy of the crew, as Hunk became _Books_ ”, Lance proposed still looking at the trains passing by on the blue background.

“Yo Blue, you're right! This guy's hella fantastic don't ya think”, Shaolin asked and put heavily his hand on Lance's shoulder. “Sorry, you're Lancey, always forgetting.”

“No problem, bro.”

“Y'all want me to become a boy? Like, for real?”

“No for fun, of course little girl”, Shaolin stated rising his voice.

Rachel wasn't really sure about that, but she had to admit that they were all right. Lance already had a outfit for her, Lance was always ready to change someone's life, especially Rachel's. She was his little pride and joy, they were sharing the artistic passion, they were somehow connected – even more than with Ronnie or Marco. But every consideration has an end, and Grandmaster Flash was the end of this one. They had to be ready for the first confrontation, against the Notorious 3. Lance knew them, heard about them, they were good, three brothers working together and having a fanbase greater than the sun. Fantastic Four Plus One? They had nothing but the purple crayon. And as much as Lance wanted to help them, he needed to fill his duty at the _Revolutionaries_.

Only when the mystery of the crayon was solved, the team was back again. Rachel dressed as Ra-Ra, the youngest of the crew and Lance proudly looking at her. Grandmaster Flash revealed the mystery, the scratching power, to Shaolin: he had to master it before the week-end for the confrontation, just in front of the Notorious 3. Hunk was a genius, Hunk wrote something for each one of them and actually it sounded pretty cool. “ _I'm fly Lancey B, all the ladies love me._ ” The whole song was freedom and pure, Shaolin was the dj, their conductor, and Shaolin Fantastic was a bad mother–. They got it, they got everything and Lance was feeling it, deep inside. Until the storm came, until Shay came – Rachel was really unbelievable, telling Ronnie where they were... The harmony was broken, Hunk was shaking, Shaolin couldn't understand. Lance had to think. He spaced out, closing his eyes and dreaming, daydreaming about Blue.

 

A lot was on his mind lately, Shao's place burnt to ashes and he got to beg his momma Honerva to give him money, while having his son on his back – jealousy – at the same time, the Fantastic Four wanted to help him so they bought a bootleg of Flash's performance and turned their parent's hairdresser salon into a club with Rachel djing. Everything went wrong at the moment the guys from Flash's side heard about it and came to destroy the place. Then, the massive Shutdown in New York, the end of the Fantastic Four Plus One because of a stupid mistake. One stupid mistake. But Shao knew nothing, they had a secret to keep and they would keep it.

The _Revolutionaries_ , his only escape. The only ones able to clear his mind. They had to do it tonight so he sneaked out, he couldn't care less about the fact that their parents were going to kill them for the salon, he could almost hear his dad screaming at Marco when he would tell them the truth about the place “Where the hell is Lancey?”. Lancey wasn't there for the moment, Blue was here for real, spraying the train again with colours of the skies, of the sea, of somebody's eyes. He was freeing himself, freeing Blue, freeing everybody. “ _Forget safety, be notorious_ ”. They were three painting, Blue, Crash and Daze. Expressing their struggles, expressing their fears about everything and anything. This train, in the morning, will look like a gift from the gods, Lance knew it.

“It's the pigs!”

A cry, his spray falling from his hand before understanding what was happening to them. They were running, not him, not without his blue spray. The pigs were close, too close to risk the sprays. Lance had to choose, he chose his life. And some light, to not sink in the tunnels. He felts their footsteps, they were closer than he imagined.

“Come back here, you fucking moolie!”

Lance felt the wind against his skin, the coolest wind ever making his denim jacket almost fly away. His fro was moving, it was a bad sign.

“We know who you are!”

No, they didn't.

“Goddamn punk-ass good-for-nothings!”

The two other _Revolutionaries_ were running, they were far from Lance, they had a chance to escape this hell. Lance could only pray Blue. He lost his light, only the tunnel's crappy light was guiding him now. He was lost, he was about to get arrested for real now. _Blue, I beg you..._

“Here. Take my hand.”

He rose his head in the dark, he saw a white hand reaching out to him. _Blue_... He took his hand. He pulled him in another, smaller, narrower, tunnel just against his skin. The guy's hair brushed gently his face when he spin to finally meet the wall with his back. The warmth of this moment, his heart racing. What the hell was happening to him again? He was out of breath, he heard the steps fading away, he looked at the man who just saved his life. He was in awe. The guy's eyes were a blessing glowing in the dark, a whole nebula of stars and galaxies illuminating the whole tunnel: how the pigs did to miss this light?

“Thank you”, he panted with a low voice.

“It's getting harder to hide. Wasn't always this way”, the guy commented and tuck his long hair behind his ear.

“Was for me”, Lance replied frowning a bit, not because he was against him but just because he wanted to see the guy's face, the light of the tunnel blinding him a bit. “Are they gone?”

The guy simply nodded, he was out of breath too. Lance looked at him for a long moment, a moment that seemed to last an eternity, just in the dark. He was taller, he was better built than him and wore a pair of jeans and a reddish washed out t-shirt. He turned to face Lance in a second, the crappy light giving him a halo – holly shit was this Jesus? - as he began to scrutinize Lance for a few seconds. He could see different emotions crossing his face, from awe to stupor, from stupor to realisation and maybe his face was heading to excitement.

“What do you write?”

Excitement. Obviously excitement. So the guy was a street artist too; how dumb of Lance to think otherwise, what the guy would do in a tunnel at night? Counting stars? Searching for treasures? He smelled paint, how on Earth Lance didn't notice that?

“You wouldn't know”, false. Lance knew people were aware of his existence, if Shaolin was, but still he believed he was the outsider of the _Revolutionaries_ , the new-born artist trying to find his way out. He was a nobody. “It's called Blue.”

“Blue”, the guy's eyes were sparkling more and more, as if the halo wasn't needed anymore.

“She's the lioness who always looks like she's going to eat somebody, but she never does. Because she knows that as soon as she'll approach a human, even if she want to be free from them and even if she has the power to, it doesn't matter, she's still gonna be hurt by them. And that they'll kill her.”

Blue chose Lance because Lance was Blue. While speaking about Blue, Lance was sharing his past, his future, his everything. He felt naked speaking about Blue, he undressed himself in front of a stranger, a fellow artist, pretending he was talking about Blue: he always did that and remained mysterious to all of them. Weakness was gaining his brain, his veins filled with guilt. He wasn't a rebel, he was a coward. And coward cower.

“You're a fucking genius.”

“What?”

Horror. Surprise. Not a creep. A “genius”. That's what he was called by this guy. Dizziness slowly reached his thoughts, he was lighter, he could fly, Blue could fly. The guy's eyes were smiling as he had arms crossed and a shoulder against the wall, he seemed so happy. Lance was confusion.

“I can't believe I'm standing here with _the_ Blue.”

Awkward silence. It seemed forever. Lance had... A fanbase? How on Earth... He was... Not that special. He had nothing to offer, he was a “good-for-nothing”, he was a failure and a disappointment. And yet, somebody looked up to him, somebody considered him as a genius, as a somebody.

“What do you write”, he dared to ask to break the ice again, to reach the heat he was radiating and to go out there, from this frozen expectation.

“Me? I'm nobody to be honest.”

Lance was a nobody a few minutes ago, and now, he couldn't believe the guy was a nobody too. He had a great knowledge of street artists, one of the things he was proud of, and he was sure that if the guy knew him, he should knew the guy.

“Aw, come on I was the one thinking I was a nobody a few seconds before.”

“Blue a nobody? Let me laugh, impossible. Too vibrant to be unknown. On the other hand, Thor...”

“Oh my... You're Thor,” Lance couldn't believe his ears. Christmas had come. “Wow”, he pursued as the guy rose his shoulders, “man _you_ 're the genius right here not me! I saw your graphs and honestly? Blue is nothing.”

“I'm gonna stop you right here”, he said touching Lance's shoulder and communicating his warmth on Lance cheeks, “Blue is a genius and this will be my last statement.”Lance rolled his eyes. “Take you back home, Blue? I know a safer way to get out of here.”

“Lead the way then, Thor.”

He followed him, to the trains, to the Bronx. He almost forgot he had a home, he almost forgot that he had problems with the Fantastic Four Plus One, he felt free and no one could take that away from him. Thor asked about his sketchbook, Lance asked about his, they exchanged them while sitting in the train to look at their art and priceless memories of other artists. This was private, this was discovering one another through their passion, through the art that linked them. Nobody knew who was whose master, they were equals.

“Oh my God you got Daze, Crash, Butch, Blade and Tracy”, Thor said as he flipped the pages of Lance's notebook. On Lance's face? Pure joy. He saw the first sketches of his favourites graphs, of the ones he cherished the most from Thor. “ _Voice of the Ghetto_... That one was bomb Blue!”

“Thanks”, Lance replied with a sheepish smile on his face that he tried to hide but Thor caught a glimpse of it before becoming serious again.

“Yo... It's really Shaolin Fantastic you got there? If it's true... What the hell man? How, when and where?”

“It's the real thing, talented, crazy free dude”, Lance hands were shaking as he thought about the few days he spent with Shaolin, his idol, an icon of the Bronx. He had the opportunity to see an artist working, not working on street art, but working with passion, heart and soul. Red soul.

“Man... But what happened to him? He went all city, did so many graphs and dragons... Turned ghost, huh”, Thor flipped another page letting Lance in stand-by. What he had to answer? Could he reveal what they were all doing right now? This was his double life now, Lancey with the Fantastic but Blue in his heart.

“Nope, still around; he's a dj now.”

“Dj? Like... Clubs? Like disco and all that stuff?”

“No, more than that”, Lance confessed secretly with a little smile, “ not like clubs. Never heard of The Get Down I guess”, and by Thor's face he got it right. “This music we're trying to do, something free, something rebel, something... Blue.”

“Could I like... Check it out?”

“Not yet, still decoding it. Shit, the next stop is me”, he remarked and the little bubble burst. He had to go back home, to deal with his parents, with his father, to fight for The Get Down, to rebel.

“Whoa, wait, let's exchange books”, Thor offered while refusing the notebook Lance was handing to him, “make something beautiful, go wild Blue. Please”, it was more than an offer, he begged him. Blue pushed him forward, Blue wanted to meet Thor again. “Make the most revolutionary piece you ever did in it Blue.”

“... Thanks”, Lance hid the notebook in his bag, having haze in his brain. He couldn't figure this out. “You do the same in mine”, he asked pointing at his own notebook in Thor's hands.

“Sure, I'll meet you back at the _Revolutionaries_ this weekend.”

The train stopped, the gates were open, Lance had to step out. But just before leaving, just before seeing for the last time his angel, his guardian, he couldn't resist the urge.

 

“ _Viva la Revolucion”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked it, leave a comment, a kudo and if you want you can find me on [Tumblr](https://zwiezraczek.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 2: I came from this city

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had to be a superhero, on his own, for himself, and now, maybe for Blue. During that night, he met passion, pure emotion and hope: he met the spirit of the night world. The Revolutionary, the best of them all. He had everything Matt searched for: free-spirited, untamed, beautiful, artistic. He was even more than he expected in the first place. Thor was a nobody, or maybe a somebody, he couldn't figure this out; but Matt, Matt was a nobody. He was a nobody for his parents, he wasn't loved, he needed love, he had no one, they had each other. He was the stain, they should have named him Stain. He would not complain about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... It's been a long time, I know but... I have no excuses I know ^^ But I'm back and continuing this!  
> So let's sit, have our cup of coffee or tea, and enjoy some Matt's story ~

_[Rule the World (I came form this city)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=caiDPLw6bMo) _

_Do I have to rule the World?_

_Or will it conquer me?_

 

He had to be a superhero, on his own, for himself, and now, maybe for Blue. During that night, he met passion, pure emotion and hope: he met the spirit of the night world. The _Revolutionary_ , the best of them all. He had everything Matt searched for: free-spirited, untamed, beautiful, artistic. He was even more than he expected in the first place. Thor was a nobody, or maybe a somebody, he couldn't figure this out; but Matt, Matt was a nobody. He was a nobody for his parents, he wasn't loved, he needed love, he had no one, they had each other. He was the stain, they should have named him Stain. He would not complain about it.

The morning light blinded him, he had to take another train to come back to the “White-boys-land”, a place he hated. He wondered if it would have been different if he came from the Bronx. But he had no choice, he was an Italian immigrant, not first generation and he was more American than he wanted to admit, Matt Holt: a nobody. He wanted to leave all of this, all behind him. The doors opened, he sat facing an old lady having a perm, her puffy scarf made her look like a cotton candy, with her plumpy cheeks and her rosy lips. She gave him a strange look, he wasn't looking like one of them, with his long blond, bleached hair, his ding-donging bag: he couldn't fit in, he wouldn't fit in. And that was what mother and father hated about him – not to speak about sister, a genius not understanding his art. But he met Blue. He met this beautiful person understanding him, wanting to hear about him as nobody ever did. Orange light on his face, he tried to remember the Blue's shape, closing his eyes. What was he doing right now? Was he changing the world as he said, “viva la Revolucion”, viva la vita? Matt opened Blue's sketchbook to admire once again his works, the autographs he collected, to admire what made him so special. Blue's sharp movements on the paper, the curvy lines, all in one trait, no hesitation, everything was already planned and Matt could feel it.

He had to close his Holy Grail, this station, it was his station. “White-boys-land: Italian version”. Was that a curse to be born white, Italian and being a Bronx artist? He believed it was, and his mother's face searching him from the window confirmed it. Coleen Holt was looking at him, with her hair curlers and her pink robe on, he could see the sleeves against the parapet as she seemed to sigh again. Morning light, the only moment Matt could see his family, could hear his father yelling at him, see his sister going to school, feel his mother's disappointment as he entered the apartment. He could sense it all. His father, Sam, didn't disappoint him as his voice rose when Matt put a foot in their apartment.

“Running all night long doing I don't know what again”, he wore a large white cotton vest, with arms crossed on his chest, no answer. “You could at least answer when your father is speaking Matt!”

“You will yell at me whether I answer or not, so what is the point father”, his voice was low, his eyes looking on the ground, he was accustomed to this, his father couldn't.

“Matteo Holt, I won't repeat myself again, were you running all night long in this filthy neighbourhood again, were you?!”

“Yes I was, yes I will do it again, yes I will not obey, yes I am a failure”, as always it hurt him, as always he said what they wanted and needed to hear, what he needed to say, what his heart was telling him. “But now excuse me, I'm really tired so I'm going to my room and get some sleep.”

He could hear his father shout again, sense his mother grabbing her husband by the arm as he yelled “I will kill him Coleen! I swear to God I will!”, Matt knew it, he needed to escape and the only way was to draw, to do art. He shut the door behind him, hoping for some peace. He could only hope for it.

“So, Matteo Holt came back home finally”, asked Katie, his younger sister sitting legs crosses on his bed and watching him, two piggy tails with her short hair, her large round glasses, she had the look of a genius and was a genius.

“Fuck off Katie, let me go to sleep I'm...”

“Exhausted? Worn out? Drained? Wearied? Fatigued?”

“Please shut up and go to your room, Mrs. Genius with glasses.”

She stuck her tongue out while showing her middle finger to him and Matt had to admit she won this round. He put his bag on the floor, put his shoes on the parapet of the window before pushing Katie a bit on the bed to have some space to sleep. He closed his eyes, when he kept his eyes closed he could see Blue again, he could feel Blue's energy. He could feel it all. He was peaceful, not as usual; when his father yelled he felt anger, he felt pain, he felt death. But now, only now, he felt that someone was waiting for him, someone liked what he did. Someone, and not nobody, was waiting for him, outside, at the Revolutionaries, and that person expected him to draw something for him. Something personal, something beautiful, something... Thor.

“Matt, you got sick or something”, she finally asked making him open his eyes to look at her with incomprehension, “ first you walk in casually, then dad yells at you and you're just like “I don't care” and then you lay dying...”

“Stop quoting Faulkner, please.”

“You're not that dumb after all”, she remarked making him rise his middle finger. “But seriously, you're not as usual Matt... I know you a bit, I know I don't understand your art and I will never understand it, but I can feel when you're not _the_ Matt.”

She was absolutely right. It wasn't _the_ Matt, it was Thor discovering Blue.

“Pigs. I mean cops, they almost got one of my friends”, he lied a bit, “I was a bit nervous about it, that's all.”

“Yeah, sure...”

 

Matt spent almost the whole week in his room with Blue's notebook in hands, trying to figure out what he would draw in there. He looked at his red socks and began to move his toes in rhythm, some neighbours were playing some Italian music, he enjoyed it, not as much as the musics in the clubs he was going in. He went to a club the night before, hence his drunk mood, his drunk face and his stomach dancing. He spent a fun night with his friend, Nyma, she was a great friend; a free-spirited woman kissing anybody, Matt included, dancing with anybody, sending good vibes to everybody. She was the freest girl in the “White-boys-land” and it was what Matt liked about her: she did what she absolutely wanted to do and didn't even hesitate to refuse what she didn't like. She was his model somehow, she knew her parents weren't fond about what she was doing, but she had a plan, she knew that some day, some day, she would leave this shithole, she would leave them all and be who she fucking wants to be. Matt believed in her, she invited him to the most gay parties in town in exchange. Not that Matt had a thing for boys, but he might have. And there, he met Carlo, Pakoussa, this famous dj, a chill guy calling him “sugar” and winking at him during “vernissages” as they said in French.

But here he was, looking at his socks in front of Blue's notebook. Nothing in mind. He had to sign it, but he couldn't sign it as if it was something he made on a wall, because Blue was a special artist in his heart, a special someone in his heart, right here, right now. He looked at his pencils again, then at his red socks, listened to the Italian music, he looked at the sun going down, he watched everything but could do nothing. He, Thor, was unable to draw. What a strange feeling. Hostage of his own mind, hostage of the perfection he wanted to create for him, for Blue; everything was so complicated right now and Matt couldn't think straight. His fingertips were running on the pages of the notebook, looking at what Blue once did, he recognized them all, Blue's style was something remarkable and Matt studied it everytime he had the chance to cross his art, free lines and savage colours that was Blue, all of him, all of what Matt knew about him. And who was Matt? Who was Thor? Only a small artist. But Blue said that he was a somebody. He couldn't disappoint Blue like that, of course he couldn't. He grabbed a purple crayon, he closed his eyes, a flash, a vision, a smile, a voice. He _knew_ what he had to do.

On Sunday, he went to the tunnels, in the morning. He couldn't sleep, he was too excited to see Blue again, to show him what he created for him and above all what Blue created for Thor. He went to the Revolutionaries, early in the morning and Crash was here, he saw him before he disappeared. Thor wasn't really with the Revolutionaries, Thor was a God, Thor was playing solo from the very beginning but he enjoyed their works, he enjoyed Blue's works. On that day, he couldn't sleep and he knew that Blue would be there during the afternoon, but he couldn't help himself and get to graph some little things in the tunnels in the morning; that was dangerous, and he knew it, but that was the only thing more exciting than meeting Blue again. He took a blue paint, without even noticing, and began to graph a sky, then clouds and then the sun: “Summertime magic”. The magic ended when his face was all covered in purples, blues and reds and he rose his eyes to look at what he did. Free. A free-spirited Thor was born this morning with the light of dawn. A Thor that had to leave before noon, just to grab something to eat in his “White-boys-land”. A Thor that couldn't predict that his father would be furious seeing him covered with paint, a father that would not only yell but also push him to the floor, a mother that would cry, words and tears, a sister that would hid herself in her room. A Thor locked-up in his room, windows closed, a bird trapped in its own cage, with its own toys, with a blue, not painted, arm. His body aching, searing, dying. Blue... Will I see you again?

 

* * *

 

 

Lance was going down the stairs at the station near his home, Thor's notebook in hand. He did something... Beautiful? He hoped so. He saw colours, he had a vision and Blue helped him achieve what he had in mind. He hoped Thor would like it. An echo of a song, losing your mind, entered into his ears as he get down the stairs looking for the iconic blond hair, here, there, somewhere.

“Yo Blue”, he heard and turned around to see one of his fellow artists face.

“What's up Crash?”

“You just missed the whole car you did Blue, what a shame”, he said looking at Lance with a smile on his face.

“Yeah”, Lance asked bumping his fist with Crash's, “Was impressive enough?”

“Fucking jay right it was”, Crash answered totally amazed, his smile widening every word he pronounced.

“You seen Thor”, Lance finally said cutting this conversation about his art. “We were supposed to meet here.”

“Yup, saw him this morning”, Crash informed him, “with paint and all the stuff. He looked like working on something and then... Pouf! Disappeared”, he said miming and explosion with his hands as he spoke.

“Yo Blue”, another fellow interjected, “ once a phantom, always a phantom.”

“Hell yeah”, Crash added as Lance only nodded forcing out.

“If you see him, tell him I was here then.”

“You never gonna see that dude again, bro”, the fellow continued and Lance only ignored him. It hurt. It hurt like a bitch to hear that. … He had his notebook right? They exchanged them, they had to meet again... Right? He began to climb the stairs to go to the tunnels. “Later Blue!”

“Yo, that last burner was amazing”, a guy sitting on the stairs said to him and reached his hand towards him, Lance clapped it while going up.

He began to run, to run as fast as he could. Thor didn't disappear, Thor just... Couldn't make it up to him today? They never set an hour, just a place besides it was only Saturday... Right? He ran to the tunnels, where they first met, Lance had his paints with him, he was maybe hoping to do something with Thor but maybe that was asking too much... He entered the dark place, took his flashlight and began to walk, looking at the walls: nothing new. His head began to ache, his body was jelly. He looked down and almost died. “Thor”, graphed in this familiar calligraphy. He was there earlier, this was new, this was fresh. The colours weren't Thor's usual, not the greens, the reds and browns, but more soft looking like his own palette. It was a sunrise. It was everything beautiful. It was a “Summertime magic”.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked it, leave a comment, a kudo and if you want you can find me on [Tumblr](https://zwiezraczek.tumblr.com/)


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